


Daughter of the Hand

by abbymaie



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, King!Rhaegar, idk this came to me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-09
Updated: 2013-06-09
Packaged: 2017-12-14 05:34:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/833348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abbymaie/pseuds/abbymaie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fate worked in curious and unexplainable ways, leaving its design upon them and not a wit on how to figure it out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Daughter of the Hand

They were overlooking the sea and the docks below. A ship departing to Dorne, another to Lys, one to Pentos, another to one of the Free Cities; the ships came and went endlessly. As they looked on, the silence surrounding them began to grow thick. It wasn’t until the King finally spoke that Ned turned to look at him.

“Lord Stark.”

“Your grace.”

“I know that there are some horrid things that mar our families but I am hoping to make amends—”

Ned abruptly cut him off. “My daughter is not my sister, your grace.”

“No, she is not. “

The king saw the sadness and grief that flickered through Ned’s steel colored eyes.

“I will not lose her as I lost Lyanna. She is  _my_  daughter.”

The King understood what Lord Stark meant. He himself had lost people he loved dearly.

_Rhaella, Arthur, Jon, Elia, Lyanna….Rhaenys._

“A marriage proposal with my son is out of the question?” Rhaegar asked.

“I will not force her. I can only suggest.” He sighed. “I promised myself that I would never do that to her. I have seen the outcome of forced betrothals before, your grace. I do not know if we will be able to handle another.”

Rhaegar nodded. He turned and walked further down to the arch that overlooked the courtyard. His silver blond hair shone in the warm sun, making his lilac irises look more blue than purple. He chuckled and Ned eyed him wearily.

“He’s fond of her.”

“Yes. They both are.”

Two boys were sparring with a slender girl. One had dark unruly, curled hair, and steely grey eyes. The other had silver hair and deep purple eyes like his father. But the girl, the girl was the spitting image of a woman lost to a kingdom nearly twenty years ago.

Twenty years and yet, the hole in both the men’s hearts was still there. Twenty years and the past refused to let go.

“She’s good.” The King commented, still watching the, spar.

Ned smiled. “Aye, she is. She practices every morning, determined to be the best ‘Water Dancer’ in all of Westeros.”

“I do believe she is well on her way. It comes naturally to her…almost as if she was a part of it.”

Ned nodded as Rhaegar chuckled. “Better than the boys anyways.”

“Aye.”

He watched as Arya parried and blocked, gracefully dancing around the two boys. In a matter of seconds, she had them both on their backs and yielding to her. He smiled and not for the first time did she remind him of Lyanna.  _If my father had let Lya carry a sword, I reckon she’d be just like Arya._  He was so lost into his thoughts that he failed to notice that the King had asked him a question.

“Lord Stark?”

“Yes, your grace?”

“I was inquiring about your family.”

“Oh right…they are well. My wife and youngest sons miss me terribly, but my oldest is doing fine as Lord of Winterfell in my stead.”

“Good to know. And what about you, my lord? The South treating you well?”

“As well as can be, your grace.”

“I know it must be hard for you to be back in the Keep, considering…”

Ned nodded. No words needed to be said to know what the King meant. His father and brother had died in the throne room, murdered by the Mad King. But that was a different time, a different King. He was willingly choosing to serve Rhaegar as Hand of the King. There was a large rift between both families and both wanted nothing more than to mend the tear and keep the peace in the kingdoms.

“I am merely doing my duty, your grace. It is a great and honorable duty.”

The men said nothing more, instead watching as Arya repeatedly struck both prince Aegon and prince Jon down, laughing as she did so. It made Ned dwell on Lyanna again.

“Father!”

Ned’s head snapped at the shout. His daughter was gone from the courtyard and running right at him. She was covered in dirt, grime, and sweat as she raced toward him.

“Father!”

The King bowed. “My lord, my lady. I expect you’ll be at the tourney, then?”

“Of course, your grace.”

Rhaegar bowed again and left them to their privacy.

“Father?”

“Yes?”

She let out a small laugh. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“No, no sweet girl. I have a lot on my mind is all.”

“Mayhaps you need some rest?”

He kissed her forehead and laughed. “Aye, mayhaps I do. Now what are you up to now?”

Arya mock gasped and then let out a light laugh. “Nothing, I was just wondering if I could explore the city.”

“Of course. Take Jon or Ae—”

“Alone.” She murmured looking away from her father.

He put his hand under her chin and turned her to face him.  _My sweet girl what are you hiding?_

“Arya, you know I cannot.”

“Father, please.”

The look in her eyes was different from the mirth she was displaying earlier. The fire was gone, replaced with misery.

“I want some time alone, away from Jon, the prince, court, the King…”

Ned knew he could never deny Arya anything. Deny her and it became her sole reason for living. He kissed her forehead again and nodded.

“Don’t get into too much trouble and be back before the tourney starts.”

Her lips curved and she kissed his cheek.

“Thank you.” She whispered as she hugged him tightly. For some reason, Ned embraced her with more force and held her.

“Thanks to you, I now require a bath.”

She giggled. “We both know you need it.”

“Arya!”

He watched as his daughter ran from the Red Keep and to the stables, a sudden feeling of nostalgia hitting him. _  
_

_No, she may look like Lya, but she isn’t her. She has too much of Cat in her to be Lyanna. She isn’t Lya, she’s my little_ Arya _._

* * *

 Arya sat with her father near the royal family. She was irritably adjusting the too tight bodice on her pale green dress and trying to get some air in her lungs. When she loosened it just enough to breathe again, she caught her father shaking his head and smiling. The King sat in his chair and next to him sat his sister, Danaerys. Danaerys was beautiful and was the King’s mirror image but with more prominent feminine features and curves. Their brother Viserys sat with his betrothed, Arianne Martell, off to the side but Jon and Aegon seemed to be missing.

“They must be participating.” Ned answered her silent question.

“Why must men try so hard to prove their worth?” Arya joked.

“ _Arya_.”

Her father laughed and she joined. “What? It’s true! There is no need to be in a joust or tourney, unless they’re trying to prove something.”

“Aye.”

They watched as the tourney began, it was being held in honor of the upcoming wedding of Prince Viserys and Princess Arianne. The archers went first, then the joust, and then the melee.

The winners of each event were to receive their prizes at the end of the last event, to ensure that no one got cheated.

The archers round was a bit dull but the winning archer made it more enjoyable thanks to his japes. They were vastly inappropriate but that didn’t stop Arya from laughing. The joust was livelier as the crowd of people cheered for their favorite knights. Every time a knight went down, the cheering got louder, until there were only two left. One was a knight from the Vale and the other, was Loras Tyrell. Though Loras was said to be a beginner, he had managed to best all the men in his second tourney. Today proved to be the same. He managed to dodge the man’s lance and knocked his opponent off his horse. The crowd cheered and Loras was named the winner.

Arya was growing bored and tired of being seated and wanted nothing more to leave until something caught her eyes. The men participating in the melee were lined up against each other and decked out in their best armor, representing their houses. There were some sigils she recognized and others that escaped her memory. The most prominent sigils she saw were the golden flower of House Tyrell, the sigil of House Dayne, and the red three headed dragon of House Targaryen. But it wasn’t the men representing those that made her stay; no it was the mystery knights.

One was tall and had all black armor and with a longsword at his side. The other was tall, built, and wearing polished armor. There was something unremarkably familiar about those two that drew Arya in. So she stayed and watched. Arya saw how each participant gave a lady their favor and nearly fell out of her seat when the prince approached where she was sitting. Thankfully, he gave his favor to his aunt instead who blushed and happily accepted his favor. It didn’t escape her notice how both mystery knights gave no favors and instead proceeded to join the melee.

She saw how easily Garlan Tyrell slashed through the other competitors, seeking to best the young prince. Saw how Edric Dayne was defeated by one of the mystery knights. Saw how the other mystery knight took out many of his challengers and Garlan Tyrell. Soon it came down to the prince and the mystery knights. The knight that was in the all black armor put up quite challenge for Prince Aegon, blocking and parrying his blows, moving swiftly but not swiftly enough as the prince managed to disarm him.

The remaining two men circled each other, waiting for the other to make a move first. The dragon prince studied the knight; watching how many paces he took back and then forward, watched his stance, trying to calculate the man’s moves. As he looked up, he saw the knight do the same. He too was studying the prince. Aegon moved forward and stuck his sword but the knight blocked it. The knight swung but that too was blocked. They moved to strike each other again and both blocked. Another swing and the men blocked. It went on for a few moments until Aegon managed to finally land a blow on the knight.

The crowd held their breath and watched as the knight struck back and hit him in side. Arya was so immersed into the match that she failed to notice that she was gripping her father’s hand tightly.

“Hey. Hey.” He gripped their hands and kissed them. “Sweet girl, it’s okay. Nothing is going to happen to him.”

She blinked.

“Of course.”

Ned kissed her forehead and turned back to the match. Arya turned to watch and saw how deadlocked the two contestants were. The sun was beating down on the grounds and Arya blocked the gleam that came from the men’s armor. But then she noticed that it wasn’t the armor that was causing the reflection, rather it was a small pendent the knight was wearing. She looked as close as she could and her eyes widened. Her heart caught in her throat and her breath hitched. Her father’s words suddenly hit her.  _Nothing is going to happen to him._

_Gendry_.

The mystery knight was Gendry. Just as she was processing all that, a sudden crash was heard and the crowd burst into cheers.

* * *

 Ned replayed the last few moments of the melee and swore to the old gods and the new that it was Robert on the field against Rhaegar. While he wasn’t present at the Battle of the Trident, he had heard of how Robert managed to disarm Rhaegar. Robert struck Rhaegar with such a force that the rubies on his armor were crushed and broken. While he was left to die on the Trident, Robert was gravely injured and later died from his wounds just as the prince, King now at that point, recovered.

The knight was disarmed by the prince with a few blows and was about to fall, when he grabbed the the other end of the tourney sword and blocked it. The crowd gasped and the knight took the distraction as an advantage and headbutted the prince. He dropped the hands from the sword and the knight struck him in the chest, knocking Aegon to the ground. It was silent and then the prince spoke.

“ _Yield._ ”

The crowd erupted into massive cheers for the mystery knight. The people shouted and rallied at the mysterious winner. All around the stands groans and cheers could be heard. All the noise died down when the King stood and declared the knight the winner. They watched as the knight helped the prince up and line up with the other winners. The first to receive his prizes was an archer by the name of Anguy, an archer from the Dornish Marches. Loras Tyrell was next and proudly claimed his prizes, handing some random swooning lady a red rose. Lastly, was the knight.

“Step forward ser.”

The knight stepped forward, standing tall before the royal family.

“You were most exceptional in the area and are therefore to be awarded the prize of 75 gold dragons. But before we grant you such gifts, it is your sworn duty to crown the Queen of Love and Beauty. Remove your helm and crown your beauty.” A squire handed the knight the crown of white and pale pink flowers.

The knight slowly removed his helm and the crowd went silent. Not only did Ned’s eyes widen, but the King was left speechless. It was like seeing the past come alive right before their very eyes. Ned saw as the young knight, who looked unmistakably like Robert Baratheon, approached the box where he sat with Arya and stop short.

_No, please no. Not again. Not_  her _._

“My lady, Arya Stark,” the knight spoke with a deep booming voice, “it would be my honor to name you, the Queen of Love and Beauty.”

Ned watched as Arya bit her lip and smiled as she accepted the crown, leaning forward to let the knight crown her. “I thank you, Ser.”

The knight lifted her hand and placed a gentle kiss on her knuckles before stepping back.

Silence filled the air until the King broke it, having snapped out of his reverie.

“The winner of today’s melee, Ser Gendry Waters of Storm’s End!”

The crowd roared in applause, hooting for their champion. Immediately after Ser Gendry was granted his prizes, the King made way for the Red Keep. Just as the others were beginning to stand, Ned motioned for Arya to stay seated. He waited until the stands were empty and asked a simple question.

“Do you love him?”

Arya could not lie to her father, but she couldn’t tell him the entire truth either. But this, this she could answer in her sleep.

“I do.”

“How?”

“Renly.”

Ned was confused. “Renly Baratheon?”

“Yes.”

Arya turned to look at the empty space in front of her and began her story.

“When I went to Highgarden to visit Sansa, I met Renly Baratheon. He too was there visiting his betrothed, Margaery Tyrell, and I happened to stumble across him and his nephew in the one of the gardens. One thing led to another and I found myself dining with Loras Tyrell, Renly, Margaery, and his bastard nephew, Gendry. I can’t explain how or why, but he made my visit easier. I didn’t have to try to be someone else, Gendry accepted me for who I was. He made me laugh, made me smile, and made me feel like I was at home even though home was a long way off. I taught him how to spar and train with a bow and he taught me how to make something out of nothing.”

Ned saw how her lips curved with every word, speaking with such conviction that he was surprised that this was his daughter speaking. “Arya, I still don’t understand. How?”

“When you accepted the position as Hand of the King, I asked you for an extended visit with Sansa. I stayed in Highgarden for a few more weeks before I left with Margaery to Storm’s End.”

He remembered Arya telling him about her excursion to Storm’s End for Margaery’s wedding to Renly. It suddenly clicked into place why she had insisted on staying at Storm’s End until he settled in the Capitol. Catelyn, Bran, and Rickon were to visit for the tourney being held in his honor and stay until Arya returned from the Stormlands.

“After the wedding, we wrote to each other. He told me about Shireen helping him with his letters and how to read, about Renly and Margaery, and about his new family. I told him about Winterfell and Nymeria, about the boys and Jon and Aegon, and about how much I missed the summer snows. But then one day, it just happened. He stopped being my friend and he became someone else, someone more meaningful to me.”

Ned wasn’t sure if that was a good or bad thing. He didn’t want to ask her what that implied but she seemed to sense what his silence was asking.

“You went to see him before the tourney, didn’t you?”

She didn’t deny it. “Yes.”

It was quiet for a moment, letting the slight breeze do all the talking.

“I never wanted to marry and I still don’t. But…” she finally looked at her father, taking her hands in his, “…if I chose to marry, I’d choose him.”

“Even if the prince asked you?”

Arya laughed, “The prince would never. He’s too much of a friend to seek my affections.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“What if he did ask for your hand? Would you refuse him?”

She sighed and gave a rueful smile. “Would you give me a choice?”

“Always, sweet girl.”

“Then I’d choose Gendry.”

“Gendry is…”

“A  _knight_  and worthy of my hand, is he not?” Arya promptly spoke.

“A  _Southerner_ , sweet girl.”

She grinned at her father and jumped up for a hug.

“Thank you, father.” she whispered.

They stood and left the empty stands, walking back to the keep. The walk back was uneventful until Jon appeared in front of them in his armor.

“Well, if it isn’t the Queen of Love and Beauty!”

She let go of her father’s arm and ran to Jon, catching her as she embraced him. He spun her around before setting her down and ruffling her hair.

“Oh shut up!”

Ned smiled at the picture before him. They talked and discussed the events of the melee, happy to see that Jon was content with becoming a knight in the near future, and how much Jon doted on Arya, treating her as a brother would a sister. They arrived late at the feast but were glad to see that they were not missed. They laughed when they heard the bard singing a song about a floppy trout and sang along to the song about the bear and the maiden. It was to be a wonderful evening.

* * *

 It was in fact a wonderful feast, filled with laughter and joy, singing and dancing. Arya danced with Ned a few times and even once with Jon, Aegon, and then with Gendry. All winners of the tourney were cordially invited to the feast as a treat from the King himself. But eventually Arya grew weary and excused herself to her chambers.

“I think I shall take my leave now, father.”

“Would you like for me to escort you?”

“No, it’s fine. Stay, I have an escort already.”

He nodded and stood to embrace her, kissing her temple.

“Night, love.”

“Night, father.”

She walked away and only then did he see her escort. He towered over her but kept a safe distance, offering her his arm. She took it and proceeded to walk into the long and dark corridor. When they rounded the corner, Ned saw how her hand dropped to meet his and interlocked with his fingers. She leaned into him and rested her head on his shoulder as they walked. They stopped and Gendry whispered something to her that made her blush and punch him in the shoulder. He chuckled and kissed her hand, pulling back before she tugged him down for a kiss on the lips. It was sweet and short and they grinned at each other, turning to leave again.

Ned laughed a light laugh and marveled at the irony of it all. Fate worked in curious and unexplainable ways, leaving its design upon them and not a wit on how to figure it out. And at that moment, Ned swore he could hear Robert’s booming laughter echoing in the corridor.

_Baratheons and Starks were meant to be._

And maybe they were…or maybe just not Robert and Lyanna but Arya and Gendry. Ned slept easy knowing that at least this time, the Stark loved the Baratheon back.

**Author's Note:**

> Whoa, sudden Ned feels over this. And yet again, I have been forced to take this in another direction. I had another version in mind but I guess this one won out. Hope you guys liked it!


End file.
